Birvidik

The Aegean, don't talk to me about the bloody Aegean. Wine-dark sea my arse; wind-tossed sea more like. The predominant wind in the summer is the meltemi, which gets its name from the Turkish for 'bad tempered'. Calling this bastard 'bad tempered' is on a par with saying that Victor Meldrew is somewhat less than charitable in his assessment of his fellow man.

After the quay-ramming debacle in Kusadasi we set of for Kirkdilim, a secluded little anchorage about 40 nautical miles to the North West. The forecast was for a West to South-westerly force 3. A nice gentle sail. Hah!

The sea was quite lumpy as we pulled out of the marina, but nothing serious. We put it down to a hangover from the storm of the day before. Einstein was in DEFCON 1, which we thought was good for these conditions. She must be getting used to things.

Einstein's reaction to sea conditions runs from DEFCON 0 to DEFCON 4. Just as you judge the wind strength on the Beaufort scale by observing its effects on the sea state, you judge the boat's motion's effect on the cat on the DEFCON scale by watching the effects on her digestive tract:

DEFCON 0: No effect. Eats normally (i.e. almost incessantly). Uses litter tray normally and covers up the evidence scrupulously.

DEFCON 1: Minimal effect. Eats occasionally. Sleeps. Uses litter tray normally.

DEFCON 2: Noticeable effect. Does not eat. Sleeps sporadically. Uses litter tray frequently. Makes no attempt to bury evidence.

DEFCON 3: Severe effect. Does not eat or sleep. Yowls reproachfully. Makes half-hearted attempts to use litter tray. Misses frequently.

DEFCON 4: Very severe effect. Yowls pathetically. Lurches from one part of the boat to another at 2 minute intervals. Makes no attempt to use litter tray. Leaves ejecta from both ends of digestive tract wherever she happens to be at the time. This has, in the past, included the bed.

The wind (and waves) steadily increased and veered round to end up dead on the nose. It blew up to about 25 - 30 knots and produced one of those nasty short steep seas that the Aegean seems so fond of throwing at us. It got the wavelength exactly right at just over half the length of the boat. At this length the waves and boat head straight at each other in a game of chicken. The boat climbs the approaching wave and, as it reaches the crest, the bow projects past the crest into thin air, counterbalanced by the greater weight of the remainder of the boat aft of the fulcrum. As they continue past each other the bow rises higher above the water surface until the crest of the wave passes under the centre of gravity of the boat. At this point the forward half of the boat finds itself unsupported some two metres up in the air. Gravity takes over and 16 tonnes of boat dives down into the trough, just in time for the next approaching wave to dump on top of it. The buoyancy of the bow, now about half a metre under water, forces it to rise and sends a wall of green water back along the deck and the whole process starts off again. This continued at about 12 second intervals for 6 hours until we got into the lee of the anchorage. Einstein, meanwhile, moved rapidly from DEFCON 1 through to DEFCON 3. She really must be getting used to it.

Kirkdilim, like many of the anchorages mentioned in the Pilot, is described as 'Good shelter from the Meltemi'. Whenever I looked at this, my mind's eye conjured up a comforting little picture of a calm, quiet, idyllic oasis, protected from the wind and the waves wreaking havoc outside on the open sea. In this oasis, Birvidik would sit calmly at anchor, snugly protected while we lay on deck and took refreshing swims in the cosily sheltered waters.

Wrong.

'Good shelter from the Meltemi' means that the really big, nasty waves it knocks up can't get in and give you a good kicking. The wind itself almost invariably can, and does. If it can't gust through a gap in the mountains and get you, it will work its way round them or, if all else fails, just climb up over the top of them, whistle down the other side like a schoolboy on a banister and dump on you with the added assistance of gravity. Just to make things even more interesting it does this in gusts of wildly varying strength and direction, slewing the bow from one side to the other a la Bodrum. It puts enough of a strain on the anchor to make you wary of leaving the boat unattended and taking a look ashore. Just to make sure you stay marooned on the boat it also kicks up enough of a chop in the limited fetch of the anchorage to ensure that any dinghy ride to shore is certain to get you seriously wet.

The Aegean took its eye off the ball for the next couple of days and we had calm and pleasant trips up to the tiny Greek island of Inoussa and on to Lesbos. Once in Mitilini on Lesbos, however it got back into its stride. The forecast was for 25 - 30 knots from the North. The reality was 35 knots gusting 45. For eight days solid. We remained in Mitilini with our heads down. Others, either less fortunate or more foolhardy, limped in over the duration in varying states of disrepair - blown out foresails, various bits broken or missing. Wusses 1, big hairy sailors nil.

When the wind eventually dropped to the merely vile, we decided we'd had enough of the Aegean and turned and ran South. Two long and lumpy (but at least downwind) runs brought us to Posidionion on Samos where we spent a welcome, uncharacteristic and unexpected three days at anchor, snugly protected while we lay on deck and took refreshing swims in the cosily sheltered waters etc. The met showed NE force fours so we thought it would be an exhilarating downhill run to the tiny Island of Agathonisi.

It's amazing how quickly you forget, isn't it. What we got were 25 knots on the nose and those nasty short seas again. Einstein to DEFCON 3. The main anchorage in Agathonisi was crowded and plagued by ferries so we anchored with a line ashore in a smaller bay which promised better shelter from the rapidly increasing wind.

The advantage of anchoring with a line to the shore is that one end of the boat is attached to a bloody great rock or tree which, generally, tends to stay in roughly the same place. The disadvantage is that the other end of the boat is held in place by your anchor. This isn't too too bad (Jersey dialect) as long as the wind comes from behind, when the tree takes the strain, or dead ahead, when the anchor is pulled in a straight line, the way it's designed to be loaded, and where the boat presents the minimum surface area to the wind. What you don't want, which of course is what we got, is for the wind to blow straight beam on. In this situation the boat presents the maximum surface area to the wind and the pull on the anchor is sideways, which it doesn't like too much. The only situation less secure than this is when the wind switches through 180 degrees and then blows beam on from the other side, thus giving the anchor a nice little waggle as well. Well, obviously, we got that too.

Winds generally die down a bit at night, but not this time. We took turns on anchor watch throughout the night. The big worry is that if the anchor drags, the stern of the boat is still attached to the land by about 50 metres of 12mm rope. The boat would then describe a graceful arc, pivoting about the tree or rock and nestle sideways onto the rocky shore and bump up and down vigorously. As trying to manoeuvre your way out of this while tied to a tree is somewhat problematic, we tied a knife next to the rope so that when disaster struck we could cut it and run. As a precaution we'd taken a compass bearing which should have got us out of the bay and into the open sea.

The anchor held, though, and at first light we heaved a sigh of relief, cast off and hi-tailed it back to Turkey, where you tend to be on the edges of the Meltemi rather than slap bang in the middle of it.

We are now gently pottering our way South and the nice little cottage in the Cotswolds, which was beginning to seem very desirable, is starting to slowly lose its appeal. I suppose cruising is a bit like childbirth - if you could actually remember it in all its gruesome detail, you'd only do it the once.